


Song V - Stormy Weather

by Sam I Am (Sam_I_Am89)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_I_Am89/pseuds/Sam%20I%20Am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot "Lie Low at Lupin's" fic inspired by the wonderful song "Stormy Weather" sung by Ella Fitzgerald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song V - Stormy Weather

Song V - Stormy Weather – Ella Fitzgerald

 

_Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky,_  
Stormy weather.  
Since my man and I ain't together,  
Keeps raining all the time.

 

 It was raining.

 Not that that made much of a change, he thought.

 It did, however, mean that he couldn’t boil an egg or make some soup as all his saucepans were scattered about the room on magically-supported towers of books or the sparse furniture. The constant plop of raindrops through the roof would not even be held off by an Impervius Charm and trying to keep one in place that did the trick was exhausting.

 So the plopping was drowned out by Ella and lots of her.

 Or, at least, the plopping added percussion somewhat ironically to the current melody.

 He hummed along quietly, glancing at the door to the only other room. Pale candlelight, sickly urine colour showing it was a flame that would be producing no warmth, spilled from the cracks and was occasionally broken by the shadow of the man moving inside.

 Remus hurriedly turned back to the small gas hob (the kind used my muggles on camping trips), trying (and failing) to work out a way to make something edible from his meagre stores without any need for a saucepan.

 The only option so far was the three cans of baked beans heated in their tins and eaten with the two least bent forks and the mould-less third of a loaf he had managed to preserve from before the last Full. Maybe, if he could dry his wand enough he’d be able to toast slices of it without burning them, but his wand was being more than temperamental since that crack had appeared along its length a couple of Fulls after he left Hogwarts and the continual damp only seemed to aggravate the situation.

 Sometimes the only thing that stopped him crying for his dignity was just that; dignity.

 He glanced at the back-lit door again, hearing a gruff mostly tuneless voice murmuring along with the words, stumbling over a song he probably hadn’t heard in fourteen years.

 What had Dumbledore been thinking? Sending him here? Probably something to do with ‘Love being the greatest shelter’.

 Remus sighed and rubbed cold fingers over his eyelids, hard enough to see bruise coloured flashes. That was just it, though. It hadn’t _been_ love, had it? Remus had seen love, had lived with love for years and knew what it was. Love was Lily and James. But he and Sirius?

 There was a creak from the other room, the wardrobe opening, and a soft expletive, no doubt at the pitiful contents. Remus gritted his jaw and switched on the gas, lighting a match and watching as the rings were wreathed in blue.

 His lower back and both his knees ached and the scratch near his elbow itched like mad; it was far too soon to be considering food or even movement, but he had a guest and said guest had appeared last night only minutes after he’d transformed, panting from what had no doubt been a sprint to get here in time, and had still found enough energy to calm him slightly, keep him from beating himself up too badly.

 And that deserved a lot more than baked beans.

 He picked up a can determinedly and scrabbled around in the cardboard box which held his kitchen utensils until he found something that was probably a can opener. It worked pretty well and eventually he was placing the can carefully on the heat and grabbing another.

 ‘Dinner’ was bubbling sluggishly when the door opened from behind him and more faint light spilled across the shadowy room. He didn’t move from where he stood and instead set about sawing the slightly stale bread into reasonable slices. He heard Sirius’ near-silent approach, somehow avoiding clattering into one of Remus’ rain-catching constructions.

 Hands clasped around his biceps and he felt a snort of breath against the topmost bump of his spine protruding from the baggy neckline of his jumper. He shivered at the surprising warmth of it, more used to the chill of his pathetic subsiding shack, the chill of isolation.

 Merlin, even sat by the fire in his study in Hogwarts he’d not felt anything like the prickling heat now searing inches from his spine so acutely.

 The hands on his biceps gently began to chafe the coarse material about near-numb skin. The touch was self-assured, as it always was with Sirius, even now when his appearance was not. The friction about his arms slowed slightly after a few moments, until the palms froze clasped about his skinny arms.

 He tried to toast the slices before him with his malfunctioning wand only for them to gain a crisper coat, but no colour whatsoever. Even the toast was monochrome.

 Remus sighed a little at the pathetic fizzle of magic and murmured, “I know it’s feeble but...”

 “Do you know James’ mum, bless her, used to make us these on rainy days? Haven’t had them since, well, since I was seventeen I reckon.”

 And although he should’ve told Remus that his food shopping abilities were appalling as were his eating habits and that it wasn’t really poverty but something far closer to laziness and lack of care for himself that made the werewolf buy little and eat even less, Sirius had made him feel a little less gloomy.

 Remus put ‘Baked beans – for rainy days’ on his mental list of items he’d go out for in the morning.

 He turned awkwardly, trying not to bash into Sirius who was standing very close, but from lack of human contact, Remus couldn’t quite judge how close. He managed it and Sirius smiled at him a little, all the hungry, tired angles in his face subtly hidden by the only soft curve his face had left.

 Remus nabbed the wadded up tea towel from the garden furniture kitchen table. It was good enough for a makeshift oven glove and he managed to transfer the hot tins to the table along with two small saucers with barely toasted bread on them.

 Still, Sirius sat down and began eating without another word, looking at the food like it was Lily’s roast chicken they’d been presented with on a Sunday; even this was twenty times better than rats, Remus was willing to bet.

 And then Sirius’ eyes moved from the food to Remus’ face and didn’t change much at all.

If he wasn’t chilled to the bone and recovering from a transformation, he was willing to bet his cheeks would’ve been nearly pink. He stared at his fork and followed it path into his meal carefully, spearing a few of the dull orange beans.

He felt twenty-one again, and that was dangerous.

For thirteen years, _thirteen_ _years,_ he’d had to tell himself again and again it hadn’t been love because...

Because his heart had been convinced it had been and determined to break itself even when it was only held together by the knowledge Harry had survived.

Sirius rolled his shoulder stiffly and scooped up a mouthful of beans; Remus watched him chew and then dunk the barely browned toast into his tin knowing that this sort of reawakening to feeling should not be coupled with images of poverty and incarceration, of lost youth and lost hope and the loss of anything else that had ever made them feel like they belonged in this world.

Maybe Dumbledore was right after all...

“Remus?”

He snapped out of his embarrassing thoughts to see warm silver eyes and an empty tin. He hummed in response, taking a bite out of the toast hurriedly which was getting soggy just from the damp air.

“Hurry the fuck up and finish. I’m sick of English rain. We’re going south.”

Remus stared at the man across for him in surprise for a moment before he began to laugh, hard, and Sirius rose from his seat with a smile far quieter than the sly grin he’d been expecting, collecting up the detritus of their half-eaten supper and placing a hand over one of Remus’. The werewolf tilted his head up towards the pale face, framed with dark hair which didn’t shine any more, but that was fairly smooth and untangled now. And it _finally_ seemed like he was looking at the same person he’d once known, not just a sad portrait, and that he was looking at him with his own eyes.

“Hey Moony,” Sirius said quietly and then gripped Remus’ thin hand a little tighter and dragged them both towards the door and out into the deluge towards a tethered, restless Buckbeak, leaving a chorus of drips behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one of five fics I wrote for a Song challenge from a friend. Five random tunes selected by the gods of fate from my music playlist; five one-shots, any fandom.
> 
> If you are curious to see what became of this, please visit my author homepage.
> 
> As always, my pet feedback monster is looking for comments for his breakfast. Any and all offerings would be much appreciated.


End file.
